Deliverance
by xians
Summary: They thought they had stopped the creation of another Dark Lord, and, ultimately, they had - by creating something far worse. [Slash]
1. One

**CHAPTER ONE**

When he awakes it is to his own labored breaths, hitch with remnants of a long deceased scream. The nightmare is fresh in his mind, a crude vision laced with screams for his blood to be shed. His heart shutters weakly within his ribcage and as the sky opened to permit a few rays of diluted sunlight to peer beyond the veil of dark gray clouds, he pulled himself upright. The jagged stone wall is hard and moist against his back, the flimsy material doing nothing to protect him from the cold draft that crept into the room. Above his head the window is small, barricaded with thick black metal that clutters when the waves below crash too violently against the exterior of the cement building. For a few minutes he was sits in silence, head cradled in his hands and eyes downcast. Exhaustion bends his body into a slouch, making him appear even smaller as his dry lips mouthed rapid, incoherent sentences. Every morning he does this, awakening from a horrid dream and sitting to reminiscent the contents of it till his heart no longer could bear the ache it constituted. Often he would be torn between tears and anger, of screaming his rage and the injustice that had been heaved onto his narrow shoulders and weeping with all that he had lost. But of late his blood had run itself cold with numbness. He reacts to everything that had once caused him to wince – as if struck – with indifference.

No surprise there, he supposed. Azkaban was known to change (to _break_ ) even the strongest of men. But he was not a man – he was only a boy; a simple, young boy that had been dealt a blow no child should be forced to endure. Raising his head with a somber sigh, his green eyes settled onto the window, hoping for a glimpse of a sunlit sky. Time trickles away as he tries to count the number of days had been wasted away within this suffocating quarters of hard stone and dampness. _Seven hundred fifty-six days_ , his mind supplies, murmured by a non-descriptive voice. An entire two years, how strange to think that more than _two years_ of his young life had been taken from him due to faulty circumstances. Closing his eyes against the subtle presence of another's anger in his mind, Harry Potter concentrated on evening his breathing as his skin puckered at the sound of harsh, rasping gasp of breaths that rattled away in his mind.

The Dementors had come to feast.

The other prisoners of Azkaban were roused from their death-like slumbers, bare hands and feet scrambling against the ground as they tried to become smaller and nonexistent in the eyes of the foul creatures. These soul eaters were not fooled by their attempts and like fiends from the depths of a child's nightmare they swept into the cells. Harry opened his eyes when one came into his own cage, looming near the cot he sat upon. Harry held the Dementors eyeless gaze as it peered down at him, scabbed, clammy hands hovering close to his face. The intention was clear, it wanted to feed from his emotions, to steal whatever remaining light of joy filled his heart; if only there was any happiness left within him. It was confused, uncertain on how to approach the boy. Leaning in closer to him, Harry bit the corner of his dry mouth, the first sure sign of his unease as the Dementor cradled the nape of his neck gently. Almost like a lover, a beloved who cared greatly for him, it tilts Harry's head towards its own. And he watches, eyes wide, as the gaping, open mouth moves to press against his own. Just one kiss, the only kiss he would ever receive in his life, and nothing else would ever bother him. He would be nothing but flesh and bones, living but never alive. Hollow.

He welcomes this with closed eyes.

When nothing came and the hands of the Dementor retreat, Harry's eyelids peel backwards to reveal irises of varying shades of green, an unspoken question of _why_ in their depths. Without sparing further time on him, the creature turns away from him, gliding back out to find itself another suitable meal to devour. A mirthless smile curls the corners of Harry's lips at the obvious rejection. For the next half hour the screams ceased to echo in the halls, grown men and women crying and whimpering like scolded dogs. Breakfast came next, one of the two meals that would be given to all Azkaban inmates during the day. Harry glanced once at the brown water full of soggy, aged vegetables, molded bread, and glass of greyish water. His tastebuds are not yet dead, and he cannot bring himself to stomach the offered meal. In no time the plastic tray is taken away, untouched. Despite the pain of gnawing hunger in his stomach, Harry falls back into his cot to sleep. His dreams were once more jumbled, incoherent visions of past events and screams of murderer. He stills shutters, violently so, at the disappointment and accusation he had heard on that day oh so long ago.

Caught in his thoughts, Harry was the last to rise from his subconscious slumber as the stationed Auror on that floor began to make rounds for showers. "Get up, Potter," commanded McNair as he stalked past. Drawing himself to his feet, Harry swayed dangerously for a moment before settling himself. The corridor is a narrow space of stone walls faded grey and streaked with aged blood and with each step his feet are cut. He could feel the blood, warm and sticky, leaving its mark as he walked. The bodies before him shuffled forward, mindless animals that tripped into one another and snarled or shrunk away when touched. When they arrive into the shower station – which in truth is nothing more than a minuscule quarter with rusted shower heads installed and an ever present chill that only intensified when ice water struck naked flesh – they go five at a time, and are allowed only ten minutes. When it came time for Harry to strip, he averts his attention away from the leering eyes and steps beneath the running stream of water. His skin has hardened, no longer discomforted by the presence of frosty water, and he cleans away a layer of dirt that cakes his skin and hair.

Dressed once more and standing to attention in line, Harry contemplates with a morbid curiosity how many more bodies will be shipped away that coming morning to be buried. It would not be the first time – since his being here, anyway – that one or even a dozen inmates died during the night. Whether from the cold that seeped into their bones after a shower, clinging to them during the frigid nights, or they simply fade, unable to continue on with living. And there are even moments in which Harry himself wished he could succumb to that very same weakness.

They make their way back into the holding blocks. The cells are neat aligned along the west and east walls, with black bars that burn of ice when touched. Harry was pushed back into his cell by the stationed warlock who gave him a mocking grin of apology and sauntered off. With his clothes still damp, Harry sits with a heavy sigh on his cot – which in fact was nothing more than stiff, threadbare piece of mattress. He should count himself lucky though, he supposed. There were very few prisoners who even had such a luxury of sleeping on an actual bed. _Yes, but they do not need to service anyone, now do they?_ Murmurs a sardonic voice, and if Harry hadn't been worried about losing his wits he would have felt inclined to retort with equal malic. Quickly scrubbing his face with his calloused hands, Harry levels his focus onto the window. Outside the sun had been consumed by dark clouds, and he could faintly taste the scent of ozone and coming rain. When he had first arrived at the wizarding fortress (screaming, crying and insisting that they have made a mistake) he had held onto a _hope_ that they would see the error of their ways – that his life would be returned to him and they would see that he was the victim in this situation as well. But that hoped had wilted away and buried itself in the deepest corner of his heart where it could not be touched. As the days progressed and the nights became a mess of violent hands and grunts in his ear, as the sunlit mornings grew fewer and rarer, Harry just stopped hoping for anything.

With each day that passed him without a change in his predicament, he would often wonder how his godfather, Sirius ( _Sirius is dead. Sirius is dead. Sirius is dead because of me)_ survived Azkaban with his sanity intact. But, like any thought that regarded his past and those whom he had come to know and once cherished, Harry was quick to deter his focus away from such a subject. Closing his eyes and leaning back against the corner, he brought his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead atop of them. He was tired, he was hungry, and his body ached and burned with a coming fever. Skeletal fingers dug into sunken cheeks as the darkness of night closed in. The Dementors continued to stalk the halls, their heavy breathes echoing eerily with the whimpers and cries from the prisoners. Harry did not look up when the door to his cell slides open. His body does not tense and his breathing does not change when a new weight is introduced to the mattress. He tells himself to not cry because crying was the only _weakness_ he dared not accept. He hates himself for leaning into the warm torso when the large hands draw him in closer to his victimizer.

 _This doesn't matter_ , he tells himself when he is pushed onto his back. _This means nothing,_ he thinks when his clothes are stripped away and he is left bare and shivering beneath the man. _You're fine. You're fine. You're fine – it doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt…._ It hurts. It hurts and it is painful. The grip is too tight, the man too rough, and he is torn inside once more. He's crying out, begging, pleading _stop_ , but he never does. And Harry is ashamed and disgusted with himself when his own body betrays him as well.

 _Freak,_ his mind whispers just as the man croons in his ear "Good boy."

 **…**

 _"_ _Harry James Potter. Born on the thirty-first of July nineteen eighty, fourteen years of age. You are charged and have been found guilty of the murders of Vernon Dursley, Muggle, Petunia Dursley, Muggle, Dudley Dursley, Muggle and the suspicion of committing the murder of one Cedric Diggory. You are hereby sentenced to a maximum of fifty years upon which date completed you will receive the Dementors Kiss."_

 _There is silence. It is hushed and untouched by the dozens of shadowed faces in the stands. They peer at him, gauging his reaction as his mind registers the weight of what was said. Guilty. The word may have very well been screamed n his ear. It echoes, it taunts, and he finds himself hysterical with tears. Someone laughs at his expenses, and he cries harder. "NO!" he screams. "You're wrong! You're all wrong! I didn't do it. I didn't do it. I'm_ innocent _!"_

 _He is babbling incoherent nonsense now, desperate to free himself from the chair. The chains binding him are heavy and cold, the metal biting into tender flesh. He looks to the stand for someone to stand by him, to support his case and finds hostility directed to him by all sides. Except one. Albus Dumbledore is disappointed. His aged face says it all. He cries pitch off into a shatter sob._

 _"_ _Innocent…innocent…you can't…I didn't…."he whispers mindlessly, eyes never wavering from the face of the old wizard._

 _"_ _You have been judged by the High Court of the Wizengamot and have been found hereby guilty," commenced Amelia Bones. "With a count of forty in favor of guilty and ten abstaining from voting. For your crimes you have been hereby stripped of all titles, names and wealth. Due to Gringotts refusal to release all Potter family heirlooms, by order of the Wizengamot all else which does not fall under the veil of heirloom will be seized from the Potter vault hereby effective immediately by the Ministry of Magic. May Merlin have mercy upon your soul."_

Harry awakes to stiff muscles to protest each movement made. From his shoulders that felt out of place to his legs that cramped as he shifted to push himself upright. Sweat gathered on his brows from his efforts, fingers cruising the length of his emaciated body to delve between his legs. Liquid, cool and thick greeted his fingers. Glancing down, Harry's lips fell into a grimace at the sight of blood. Wiping the blood with the hem of his shirt, he redresses slowly. The day of his trial (or condemnation as he had taken to thinking of it) was a reoccurring dream he had come to accept. When his mind was not otherwise preoccupied with more grotesque nightmares, he would often find himself back in courtroom ten and under the scrutiny of others. On that day he had lost everything. Those whom he had once foolishly thought were his friends had damned his name and very existence. Oh, Harry remembers so clearly how perfectly they played their parts of the frightened little do-gooders who had thought they could change his "dark and evil" ways. More so, even the very man whom he presumed to have only his best interest at heart had spoken of nothing but his _disappointment_ in Harry. "Never would I have thought Harry capable of such crimes," he had said solemnly. "To kill his relatives whom had taken him in when no other would – it is unthinkable."

The Dursley's may have taken him into their home, but they did not welcome him. From the moment he was old enough to understand that other children were not treated as he was, that they were not mocked and scorned for being something that did not fit the bill of normalcy, Harry knew that he was not loved by his relatives. He accepted that, and he felt no love for them either. However, it was learning that Dumbledore had been _aware_ of the Dursley's treatment of him and blindly turned his eyes away from what was happening was what truly upset Harry the most. All these years the man had known what was occurring behind the doors of number four and never once raised a hand to intervene on Harry's behalf. Harry wasn't what hurt more: realizing that his friends were anything but, or that the man he thought was trustworthy was no better than the Dursley's.

His fingers closed around the knitted, rough patch work on his chest. Prisoner number 2931345. He _wasn't_ Harry Potter anymore – they had taken his name, his legacy and his freedom and tucked him away in a little cage where he could do no one any harm.

As he sat there, cold air billowing around him and trying to uproot his sore body from the bed, Harry could not help but to wonder where he had gone so wrong in his short life to deserve such an ill-gotten fate. Maybe, he presumed, it had all began when he had survived a night that should have been his death. By surviving alone he had marked himself for a fate where he was damned if he did or damned if he didn't do what was expected. Or, perhaps, it had festered into something more when his need to please, to prove himself too worthy and not the waste of space his said he was that he had gone wrong. Or even, it all began when he had chosen Gryffindor ― he shook his head. There was no point of thinking of it, no purpose in contemplating anything at this point. Still, he could not help his thoughts from drifting over to his once-friends. Their betrayal, only one of many if one was to look into the on-and-off behavior of Ronald Weasley, left the same familiar sting, and birthed an age-old vulnerability he hid from public. For all the wrong reasons he wanted to be better for them, his friends and surrogate family, and gain the approval of the only man he had ever looked towards for guidance – the very same man who had allowed him, a child, to be sent away to prison without a proper trial.

A short, bitter laugh falls from his lips as he closed his eyes and threw his head back against the wall. _Damned if you do and damned if you don't_ , he thought dully as another day begins.


	2. Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Verdant Gardens was the crème de la crème of village royalty. Nestled miles away from Hogsmeade and its main patron squares of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, it was town built to cater to the wealthy and influential. It goes without saying that from its rich, polished white stone streets, to its manicured and perfectly aligned shops and restaurants that it was a vast difference from its counterpart. Unlike Diagon Alley where the daily activity consisted of bustling motions, shrieking animals and the cry of outdoor marketers calling out prices for their equipment, verdant Gardens was quiet, calm and organized. It was here that Ron Weasley and his family (excluding that of his elder brothers Bill and Charlie whom were currently preoccupied with their respective works) were accompanied by one Hermione Granger to a lunch date to The Blue Unicorn. After the scandalous Potter trial two years prior, Minister Fudge had been gracious in his payment to them for their assistance in implicating Harry Potter during his case. The Weasley family was awarded a grand sum of two-million galleons and Hermione five hundred thousand galleons from the Potter's seized accounts. There was no inclination of guilt or remorse for their actions – true, they had sent their once near and dear friend away to prison, but they also felt that he was at fault and responsible for his crimes. What further situated them against Harry Potter was the fact that it was his wand that was used to torture and murder his Muggle relatives and Sirius Black.

Now, for the first time in centuries the Weasley family had money to splurge as they pleased. Arthur Weasley continued his line of work at the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. The payment remained the same (forty-five galleons per month), and should he choose to ever retire early he had a life of comfort awaiting him. Molly Weasley had grown overbearing and a tad insufferable due to her sudden acknowledgement by society and wealth (this Ron thinks), and the Weasley children find themselves content and eager for all that life had to offer them now. For Hermione the provided wealth gave her the opportunity to continue her dreams of liberating house-elves, leaving her to invest much of it into this newfound organization and the rest towards future living expenses.

On this particular day, one which the weather was fair and cool, the Weasley and Hermione were heading towards The Blue Unicorn adorned in dress robes customarily cut-and-designed by one Madam Reys and Sevres.

"Arthur," Molly was saying superciliously. "Why are on earth are we dining at the Blue Unicorn? We've eaten here before, if you recall. We should go to the Gilded Moon or even the Yellow Chariot." She pauses to smooth the wrinkles from her satin, lace cut peach colored robes, and tuck away a loose red curl. "You must think of Ginny, dear. She's during sixteen this year, and everyone knows that the most eligible young men and future acquaintances are found there. Many other families send their children to other schools, so we must find the best pick as quickly as we can."

At Molly's glance, Ginny was quick to nod her agreement. She, dressed in the latest fashion by Madam Reys and Sevres (a rich, champagne colored dress white ribbons securing the sleeves at the elbow and ruffling the rest of the material) gave a self-important smile. "Daddy, Mum is right," she said and the rest of the party nods their agreement. "My future husband would not be here if his life and status depended on it."

"I know you want that you want to go there, dear, but we cannot," Arthur explained tiredly, "I have tried of many occasions to book a reservation but they perpetually insisted they were full. Molly, dear, you know as well as I that those two restaurants cater to the haute monde. It takes many years enter such a level of echelon. But I am certain with time and well placed connections we will gain entry within a year or two."

Ron gave a huff of disdain, watching as an excessively dressed couple exit the restaurant with the woman laughing behind her golden fan. "That's not fair. What do they have that we don't?" He demanded to know. Years of receiving only the bare minimal or even old and worn things had left him a bitter, and jealous young man. With the wealth that had come upon their family Ron had grown accustomed to getting what he wanted. All the things he had wanted and never once dreamed to receive (such as the Nebula, the latest model of racing brooms; new robes and clothing, and a very wand of his own.) He was the captain of Gryffindors Qudditch team, beater and Head Boy – he had it all and still he knew himself to deserve even more. Even Harry Potter had been free anything he wanted just fell at his feet – he didn't have to work for anything, so, surely, Ron was entitled to the same?

"Money and class would be one thing they possess that you do not, weasel," came the drawling, condescending Draco Malfoy. He stood between his mother and father, nearly as tall as Lucius Malfoy who assessed them with open mockery and distaste. His mother, Narcissa, was dressed in form-fitting silver dress that accented the pale blonde of her hair and cool, frozen blue of her eyes. She stood with equal beauty and grace as her husband and son whom wore dark navy dress robes with silver trimmings and intricate designs in the sleeves. "You may make it well with the new families who had come into new fortunate and the other unfortunate plebian, but never will you be welcomed by anyone of higher pedigree. Especially not with the mudblood dog hanging around."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione retorted with a sliver a snarl to her lips. For too long she had been forced to listen to the irate remarks of Malfoy and his croons – to be silent to the taunts and mockery of all those who stared at her with scorn for being a Muggleborn. She would not remain silent any longer. She was a Muggleborn and takes pride in her Muggle heritage, and would show all those who had looked down at her that even she could stand above them. "You don't know anything."

"You must better train your family dog to remain quiet, Arthur," said Lucius. He glanced over once at the doors of the Blue Unicorn. "Hmm, I suppose it is acceptable that you would dine at the Blue Unicorn." The corner of his mouth rose into a smirk. "My, my aren't you just going somewhere in life."

"Yes, we are," responded Arthur. "And mind your tongue, Lucius. Hermione is not a pet, she is our family."

"Mind my tongue? For that, pray tell, Arthur? Speaking the truth?" He takes a threating step forward. "It is you, Arthur Weasley that must take care on what you say or you will find all doors here closed to your kind. We all know what you are, and what you will become. Had Potter not gone to Azkaban you would not access to the money you do today. We do accept interlopers and legacy thieves into our hallowed gates. Now, if you will excuse my family and I, we did not come to see the trash of Verdant Garden. Come, Draco, Narcissa, we are nearly late for our reservation at the Gilded Moon."

With a parting smirk from Lucius and a small chortle of amusement from Narcissa, the Malfoy's set off. Long after they had left the Weasley's and Hermione were making their way into the restaurant with their emotions high. Ginny, the most annoyed, stomped her foot in show of her irritation. "Oh how I hate him," she spat. "They don't know what they're talking about. We're just as good as the rest of those snobby Purebloods."

"Worry not dear sister," began Fred musically.

"For when you return to Hogwarts," continued George.

"We shall give you our latest batch – "

"– Of sickening treats,"

"So that you can shut that ferrets mouth," they finished together.

With their moods considerably lighter, the clan laughter and talked eagerly amongst themselves. The future that awaited them seem so grand, for Ron and Hermione planned to marry after graduating from Hogwarts. The twins had a successful business operating in Hogsmeade. Bill was married and doing well, and Charlie dividing his time between his passion for dragons and his family. Percy visited often and worked under the Minister of Magic. And, as for Ginny, she planned for a life of luxury as a lady to a noble man. She spared not a single thought to the love she once felt for Harry Potter, and would speak his name with a vat of hate when not thanking him for being such a foul person and providing her family with his money.

 **…**

Where the Blue Unicorn was powder blue and stationed with minuscule unicorn statues (thus, receiving its name), the Gilded Moon was a dimly lit room. Gold lanterns hovered above the white marble tables that were dressed with an obtuse vase filled with white roses. The carpet was lush and dark where the walls were a pale gold. A quiet, soft soprano filled the air as the patricians of society dined.

"Lucius, dear, I had nearly forgot to inform you of my visit to Gringotts yesterday," Narcissa was saying, pouring her son another cup of tea. "The Goblins still refuse to allow a public reading of my cousins will. You recall, Sirius, correct? Well, they insist that the will cannot be read until that Potter boy is present."

"Why on earth does Potter need to be present?" asked Draco after a sip of his earl grey tea. "You don't think that bloodtraitor actually left anything to him?"

A small frown draws Narcissa's brows together. "I cannot be certain, dear. Only a Black may inherit – be it a Black by birth, or hest and erus blood adoption. I don't believe Sirius could have done either ritual seeing as he was incarcerated for much of Potter's youth. Furthermore, had he done so, Sirius would have surely disinherited my sister and I. Bella and Sirius neither have children, neither my traitor of a sister nor her spawn could inherit. As I'm sure you're aware, grandfather Pollux had her disinherited and stripped of all Black rights. Not even a future heir could reinstate her into the Black household." She pauses to take a drink of her tea, facial expression hinting towards her disappointment as she continued. "And while my Aunt Walburga burned Sirius's face from the family tree, she did not officially disinherit him from the Black Lord title."

"I will see what I can do, Narcissa," said Lucius. "However, I can make no promises. While those filthy goblins may be decent with finances, are highly against Ministry interference when it comes to their gold. They will continue to postpone the will reading for as long as possible, but I will see what can be done about those beast."

That conversation was laid to rest for another time as Lucius returned the menus to the waiter. Minutes later their first course arrived, and while they were eating in silence something dawned on Draco and he chuckle. "Can you believe those Weasley's and their Mudblood pet actually had the nerve to presume they deserve to dine here?"

Narcissa snorts quietly behind her hand. "The Weasley's – here? That day will never come. They seem to have forgotten what caused their family to be branded blood traitors and oath breakers to begin with. They will never find a place within the haute monde again. Arthur and his wench of a wife are well aware of the rules. That family disregarded generations of good will and longstanding alliance with the Tremayne family for mere money. If they believe simply having money can buy their return into old positions they are senile. The Tremaynes may have possibly died out but _we_ never forget. These doors will never be opened to their kind again."

"Very true," said Lucius.

"What you mean they have possibly died out?" asked Draco. "I was under the impression that there hasn't been a Tremayne heir in over a hundred and seventy years. The direct family line is surely defunct."

"That should be the case. However, Lady Weldon, Lady Parkinson and I were discussing this yesterday over tea," explained Narcissa. "Lady Weldon stated that her husband has been at Gringotts on many occasions – as I'm sure you're aware the Weldon's are the closest blood relation to the Tremaynes – in an effort to collect the inheritances. He, of course, thought there would be no issue due to the time that has passed since the last direct heir was present, and as there is no current heir coming to claim stake on the Tremayne line he thought himself suitable to take it. However, the Chief Head of Inheritance told him the heir is living according to the magic within the family crest."

Draco and his father stared at Narcissa in silent stupor, their eyes slightly wide. The Tremaynes had been a powerful family in their heyday. The heir, should their truly be one, carry the power, heritage and every familial connections to that family.

"How…interesting," Lucius began slowly. "I must look into this. I suppose you were hoping to gauge the persuasions of Lady Weldon during this get together of yours?"

"Of course I was, however, the Weldon's are substantially neutral for the time being. That family has always been neutral, and it is unlikely they will take part in an issue unless it will offer them some sort of gain," answered Narcissa. "At least I can agree with their continuous hold of the old traditions and family values."

"Don't the Weldon's have daughter a younger a bit younger than I? Perhaps, permitting of course Mother, Father, during the rest of the summer at various soirees and events I should introduce myself to the Weldon girl seeing as they do not attend Hogwarts," said Draco.

Lucius took a moment to consider this, a secure plan forming in his head. Finally, he gives his approval to both his wife and son. "As you should, Draco. As for you, my dear, continue to invite the Lady Weldon over to tea. If we can convince both women into an arrangement, the rest of the house will follow."

 **…**

When he had been summoned by his lordship the Patriarch of Malfoy had, rightfully so, been ignorant as to what matter was of such dire importance that he be called away from his household late evening. Draped in robes of deep color of wine, pockets, trims and buttons lined with intricate designs of gold thread, his long, pale fingers stroked the serpent head of his walking stick. The narrow halls of the corridor were lined with slumbering portraits of Lestrange kin, their shallow breathes echoing eerily. Further done he could hear the spitting hisses of snakes, a sound that slips beneath his constructed mask and produces a grimace of unease. Retaining his prior, stoic expression, Lucius Malfoy paused outside the door of lordship, pursued his lips and gave a sharp knock.

"Enter, Lucius," said a soft, high voice.

The old hinges of the door groan as the Malfoy Lord stepped into the study. Rich with décor of darkest greens and black, the plush armchairs were centered before the marble hearth, a great serpent coiled over the deep crimson rub beside it. The desk was to the right, made of mahogany and the surface strewn with descriptive layouts of buildings, documents, and open tomes. To the left, and inches from the large, curtained window was a bookshelf that brushed atop the ceiling. Beside it was a settee of deep emerald with silver trimmings. Halting his inspection of the study, the sharp, grey eyes of the Lord Malfoy settled onto the very man who had requested his presence this night. His lordship, bestowed with many titles, such as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Lord Voldemort, and the Dark Lord, sat upon the left armchair facing the hearth. His skin was a chalky white, translucent in the glint of flames. His skin smooth and head hairless. Closer inspection showed that the man possessed no nostrils, but rather slits, and his eyes were a bright, blood colored crimson with serpentine pupils. Dressed in flowing, black robes that seemed to consume his skeletal frame, had it not been for the thrum of power that he exuded Lord Voldemort would be deemed _unthreatening_.

"My Lord," greeted Lucius as the platinum haired Pureblood swept further into the room and bowed before his lord.

"Sit," instructed Voldemort and once the man had fallen into the vacated armchair, he began speaking. "Tell me, Lucius, why did you think it not crucial to inform me that a possible heir for the Tremayne line lives?"

"My Lord," Lucius quickly began, "I was planning on informing you once I myself was certain that there was a living heir. I had just verified that Lord Weldon cannot stake claim to the Tremayne inheritance because, in accordance to what the Chief Head of Inheritance said, an heir already lives."

"How interesting," Voldemort murmurs. "That, at the very least, answers one question of mines. An heir to the Tremayne line is essential, Lucius. It has been over hundred and seventy years since the last heir apparent was recognized. You will find him, Lucius. Find this _heir_ and do not fail me least you find yourself becoming…disposable. You have made one mistake too many. You have five mines to locate and bring me this heir."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius says quickly.

Voldemort, idly twirling his wand between thin, white fingers, considers his next course of action. The news of a living Tremayne heir was – is – as essential as he said. The sheer connections this man alone held at the tips of his fingers, the amount of families that would fall to their feet in hopes of receiving even a moments worth of acknowledgement from the Tremayne made him a worthy possession. Of course, should this heir expose himself to be someone unwilling to side with Voldemort's cause he could always dispose of the little annoyance and claim what was rightfully his. He pauses in his thoughts regarding the Tremayne heir to focus on another matter.

Currently, he plans to attack Moreshire. It was a wizarding village located on the southeastern part of Britain. The very last of his Horcruxes was hidden there, and after much contemplation and acceptance that his sheer madness was a fault of splitting his soul into halves, he opted to change tactics. Immorality would be achieved by any other means, but his souls he would gather and sew into a whole once more. Or a near portion of it, anyway. A whole half, the diary, had been destroyed years ago due to the incompetence of Lucius Malfoy. Furthermore, since the world had come to known of his return upon his theft of the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries two years before, he had forced to be calmer, more patient with his plans. A slow and cunning victory was what was necessary to win.

Especially with Harry Potter no longer be a viable threat to his person. Maybe in a decade or so he would free to boy just for the pleasure of finally killing the boy the world that unconquerable.

"Wormtail, come here," Voldemort said, his eyes settled onto Nagini who was wounding her great body around his chair. She rested her large head on his shoulder, hissing softly when his fingers scratch at her head.

Peter Pettigrew, better known as Wormtail, scrambled away from his hiding place in the corner of the room. Lucius sneers at the pitiful man as he groveled at Voldemort's feet, kissing the hem of his robes. "Ye…yes…yes my lord?"

"You are to accompany the others and Flint for tonight's raid. Ensure that Flint does not make a mess of things or you will find yourself taking his punishment," informed Voldemort, dismissing the rat animgus with a flick of his wrist.

"Yes, my lord. I will not fail, my lord," whispered Wormtail feverishly. He is quick to backtrack from the room, closing the door behind him.


	3. Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

Time had not been kind to him. It was apparent in the ways pale light of the flickering candles shadowed his face, aging him decades more. His skin was ashen and hanging from the bones. Lines and wrinkles were deeply etched into his face, giving Albus Dumbledore an appearance of someone too frail, too sick and too tired to continue with his current endeavors. Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes, the old wizard found his eyes wavering between the slumbering portraits and Fawkes, his phoenix, who was grooming himself. Far too much has occurred within the past two years – much of it leaving him to question his past deeds. One, in particular, made itself known and Albus pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. Prisoner number 291345 – Harry Potter. To this very day he recalls the wounded look in those green eyes, the anger and the accusation that had burned in their depths when Harry had looked to him. The boy had only been fourteen – far too young to be subjected to a life imprisonment, and though Albus had been unable to find a coherent thought when he used Legilimency on Harry, he had felt that at least the boy wasn't as guilty as they all presumed. However, when he had taken into consideration the inactivity of the wards, Albus was forced to consider the unthinkable – that Harry was at fault. At least, to a degree. The Dursley's death, while tragic in its own right, had caused Albus to reconsider all he had once planned. Without a savior to fight the battle that was drawing nearer each day, his hands were inevitably tied. Unless, of course, he could get Harry Potter acquitted.

 _Yes, that is what I will do,_ Albus thought as he opened another pack of the small, pellet shaped candies called Nerds. They were a tad too sour for his taste, but delicious nonetheless. _I will inform certain members of the Ministry that a proper trial had not been given and the permit the use of Veritaserum. Harry has already turned seventeen – but surely time at Azkaban had left him mentally incompetent?_ He pauses, frowning at Fawkes who was assessing him with flat eyes of disapproval. _Harry will, rightfully, be grateful to have been released from Azkaban and return to his old life._

"An old friend will be returning to Hogwarts, Fawkes," Albus informed the phoenix who leveled him a severe expression and trilled softly. He threw away the empty packs of the Muggle candy and grabbed a lemon drop from the crystal bowl near the edge of his desk. Unwrapping the yellow candy, he placed it into his mouth and made a thoughtful noise. "We will have to tread carefully with him, of course – who knows the extent of damage his time within Azkaban had done to his psyche."

Fawkes, trilling in offense, ruffled his feathers and vanished from the Headmasters office in a burst of red and gold flames. Albus stared at the stop where his familiar once stood with a heavy frown as a deep sense of foreboding came upon him.

 **…**

The wizarding village of Moreshire lay slumbering, oblivious to the danger that roamed their quaint streets. With its many homely shops and cottages, the presence of several men in black robes and silver mask was an unusual, if not highly discomforting, sight. The group of fifteen moved through the quiet streets, having arrived only minutes ago from their previous location at Gaunt's cottage to retrieve an artifact for their lord, Voldemort. Slytherin's locket had been moved from his former location two years ago, and with the Horcrux in hand Rodolphus Lestrange was impatient to locate the next artifact and return to the manor. Beside himself and Peter Pettigrew, the others were ignorant to the reason behind tonight's raid. They were under the delusion that they were looking for an essential magical artifact and nothing more.

Rodolphus Lestrange was, once many years before his consequential imprisonment, a handsome man. Azkaban had robbed him of the body weight and attractiveness, reducing him to not else but a tall, gangly man with sunken in dark eyes and shaggy back hair that hung around a narrow face. Behind him, he could hear the murmur of conversation and with a snarl that showed yellowed teeth, he hissed out:

"Whoever is making all that noise behind me best stay quiet least they lose the ability to use their damn mouths," he warned. "And believe me when I say that your death due to stupidity will not fain you any mourners amongst us. It's bad enough that incompetent rat "―this is addresses at Pettigrew who cowers away from his glower― "forgot the damn Portkey."

Pettigrew, in a moment of fright when that blasted idiot Marcus Flint had sent a stray stunner into the window of a shop, had fled from sight. In all, Rodolphus was surrounded by worthless twats who had only gained (this being Flint) their rankings through the efforts of others. Staring down his party for a second longer, Rodolphus turned on his heel and continued onward. As they were making their way toward the main apparition point outside of Moreshire, the cracks of Apparation sounded in the once silent night. Before them stood several dozen Auror's, wands raised and poised to attack and defend. Rodolphus cursed. Of all the bloody luck in the world _this_ would happen. Pettigrew, the sheer idiot that he was, shouted "Attack them! Don't let yourself be taken alive!" just as the head of the Auror party demanded they stand down.

Rodolphus wasn't by any means stupid. He knew they were outnumbered and the most logical plan of action would be to flee, not fight. But, then again, he was not the type to run from a fight. Tucking away the locket, he was quick to draw his wand and retaliate.

 _"_ _Confringo!"_

 _"_ _Locomotor mortis!"_

 _"_ _Petrificus totalus!"_

Spells were fired from all ends, some hitting their ended targets and others straying away. Buildings were damaged as the terrified screams from the villagers began to fill the air, Rodolphus snarled at the sight of five outer circle Death Eater's portkeying away. _Traitorous bastards,_ he thought viciously. He returned to battle ahead, no longer able to account for the number of dead and injured on both sides. From the corner of his eye, Rodolphus watched as the immobile Death Eaters were rounded up and Apparated away from the scene by the Auror's.

" _Entrelago! Entrelago! Avada Kedavra! Flagrantum corpus!"_ shouted Rodolphus, spells fired from his wand in quick succession. Three Auror's fell down, dead, and the other greatly injured. His focus turns onto the remaining others, glancing once at Pettigrew who had managed to slow the approaching Auror's with misaimed shots of the bone-melting curse to their legs. Pettigrew, in his moment of smugness, was oblivious to the stunner that had been sent his way until he too was on the ground, unconscious.

Rodolphus, growling under his breath, called for his remaining comrades. "Waverly, Titus, York, Jeffries, and Palden take the rear," he instructed swiftly, dodging a wayward spell. "The rest of you lot upfront with me!"

Their attempts to make their way towards the apparition point was deterred by the remaining Auror's who formed a pincer formation. Swearing harshly once more, Rodolphus bellowed a sharp "Kill them all!" and sent curse after curse towards his enemies. The battle was a spectacular show of lights, of screams and the heavy scent of blood and gore. A true sight to behold, but as they were greatly outnumbered it ended quickly. The rear defense of Death Eaters were slaughtered mercilessly, and the front circled.

It was there, possibly in a moment of what he presumed to be utter brilliance, that Marcus Flint drew his mind and spoke the incantation. " _Fiendfyre_!"

The Auror's situated at the rear snapped their heads towards the youth in horror. Quickly, they ran towards the village limit. They were joined by the companions who worked to strength the wards surrounding the small village, intent on protecting the villagers from the spell that was notoriously known for its inability to be controlled.

Rodolphus, who had been at the rea flank, turned to face the flames that had taken on the shape of a great arachnid. _Well, this proves it,_ he thought as he ran from the fiery spider that advanced towards him and another Death Eater. _I'm surrounded by idiots._

 **…**

David Roundtree was the newest member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. A little more than five months ago he has been working at the office of Accidental Magic Reversal Squad before his transfer to the MLES, and it was due to his new position within the department of MLE that he was playing messenger. Currently, he was floored by the news he had just received. _I should have flooed in sick today_ , David thought dejectedly as he gathered what courage he could and made his way toward the office of the Ministry heads. A part of him feared that he would be without a job once he had informed the Minister of Magic of his findings – something he surely did not look forward to. Wiping the sweat from his round, rosy cheeks, David did job of fixing his air and bearing an air of professionalism.

"Office of Minister of Magic," intoned a monotone voice.

Several people took notice of his swift stride as he walked down the marble stoned corridors. Outside of the Minister's office, Percy Weasley had barely sat down at his desk when David made his way over. Percy, who had been in a rather pleasant mood up until now, had been considering his good fortunes. Unlike his family – who had grown to become the very people they swore to despise – Percy worked very hard for his money. After Harry Potter's trial and his family rise into wealthy, the relationship between himself and the others had been a bit strained. He still played the part of a good son, of course, but Percy remained disappointed at the circumstances for which they gained the money. As for himself, just yesterday Gringotts had written to him of his good fortunes. Percy had tried his hand at a risky expedition to the Himalayas to search for demiguises. The hairs of this creature was well sought after due to the fact it was what enabled the creation of the invisibility cloak, and also a rare potions ingredient. His efforts had not been in vain. With a one-thousand percent return of his investment, and had come to find himself with more money than he could ever think to spend in one lifetime.

So, yes, Percy Weasley was in a grand mood. That is, of course, until David Roundtree had the galls to walk past him. "Hey!" Percy cried out, already to his feet and hurrying after the brunette. "My god man, stop this instant! The Minister is preoccupied with a meeting. You can't just rush into – are you listening to me?!" Percy shouted a bit louder as the man continued to ignore him, and David had already pushed open the ornate doors to Minister Fudge's office. "You have to make an appointment," Percy was saying as they both entered the office.

Cornelius Fudge was a short, balding man with brown hair and eyes, and whose hands persistently were damp with moisture from a medical condition. Presently, he was in the midst of meeting with the senior members of his Cabinet, and addressing the issue of the budget. He still had yet to meet with Amelia Bones regarding the issue that had occurred the previous night near Moreshire. "Yes, and it is due that that we will have to..." the Minister trails off, his eyes narrowed as he looked upon Percy and David. "Who are you?" He demanded testily. "You have no right to be in here. Weasley remove him this instant!"

"Minister, I come bearing important news," David says, slapping away Percy's hand on his arm. "I was sent here directly by Amelia Bone and Alastor Gumboil concerning what happened last night in Moreshire."

Fudge sighed and waved a hand in indifference. "Yes, yes, well get on with it. What is so important about this small skirmish that felt it vital to send you?"

"Minister, I believe what I am about to say should be for your ears only," said David slowly.

"We do not have time to waste, dear," said Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge in a sugar tone of voice. "Now, if you will get along with this important news of yours."

David dared not to speak for a moment as he collected his wits and took a deep breath. "Minister," he began, "last at Moreshire there were several disturbances. As I'm sure you're aware the Auror's were called in, and there was a great loss for both sides. Six Death Eaters were captured, one of them which was Peter Pettigrew – the man who we had all assumed had been killed by Sirius Black more than a decade before. He had confessed to the crimes Sirius Black was found guilty of under Veritaserum. Pettigrew and four other Death Eaters also confessed to the murders of Harry Potter's relatives two years ago." He pauses to exhale. "We have confirmed their confessions to be true under both Veritaserum, Legilimency and the use of a pensieve. The problem I have brought to you, Minister, is that is information has been leaked as of today – the _Daily Prophet_ is already sending out copies."

There was a deafening silence. It stretched on for minutes as Fudge's face went through a series of colored changes. He went from pink, to purple, to red and finally a bone white. He looked as if he was about to collapse. Umbridge, flabbergasted and pink-faced, fanned herself with a pudgy hand. The other senior members of the Cabinet were no better off; one even fell faint from the horror of it all.

"Merlin have mercy," said Percy is a shaken voice. "We've sent an innocent boy to Azkaban."

 **…**

Grimmauld Place had not changed much since the death of the last Black heir. It was still as dark and despairing as it had been when Sirius Black was alive, and it was still being used by Albus Dumbledore as the meeting place for his vigilantly organization the Order of the Phoenix. He had minutes ago called an early morning meeting after his sources confirmed that a fight between the Death Eaters and Auror's had occurred in Moreshire the previous night. He was still unsure as to the exact reasons for the presence of the Death Eaters, however, he was certain it had something to do with the Horcruxes. For more than two years now, Albus had been actively searching for Tom Riddle's Horcruxes himself. If his suspicion proved to be correct, than Tom was working on reuniting all the pieces of his disfigured soul and making himself mortal once more. It would making his defeat more plausible, for sure.

"FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS! SCUM OF THE EARTH! HOW DARE YOU SULLY THE NOBLE AND ACNIENT HOUSE OF BLACK?!" screamed the portrait of Walburga Black. Whatever else she had wanted to say was interrupted when the dark curtains were drawn back over her portrait.

"Blasted old bat," grumbled Ron with a huff. He was more than a little irritated at having been awoken so early in the morning, and as he had yet to eat his patience was short. "Always getting on my nerves, I swear by Merlin she does."

"I had been reading on a way to cast a permanent sticking charm on those curtains," Hermione said with a small smile.

"Good," huffed Ron as he took his girlfriend's hand. "That damn woman is giving me indigestion."

"Ronald Weasley you will mind your tongue or I'll use scourgify on it!" called Molly from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mum," Ron replied with a roll of his eyes. He, Hermione and the rest of his siblings laughed as they entered the kitchen. Each took their respective seats around the old table, and as they were waiting for the final members of the Order to arrive (Hestia Jones, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody) Snape began to speak.

"Can we begin this ill-timed meeting, Albus? Unlike the majority of the people here my time is limited and already I have been here for over thirty minutes," said Severus Snape in his usual dour tone.

"Quite right you are, Severus," Albus said, seated at the head of the table. "I am sure there is a good reason as to why Jones and the others are detained. I had called you all in today to speak about the Death Eater activity that occurred last night. In Moreshire, a battle raged between the Auror's and the Death Eaters. They was substantial loss on both sides. However, I do not have all the details yet, but Fiendfyre was used. A good portion of the woods outside of Moreshire was burnt to cinders. Thankfully, none of the residence were harmed in the process." His blue eyes settle on Severus. "Do you have any more details you can tell us, Severus?"

"The reason for the journey is unknown to those of us who were not sent on the trip. Due to the size of the party I can only assume the remainders were there for backup support, but they had not accounted for the arrival of the Auror's. Several Death Eaters were captured, amongst them Peter Pettigrew and possibly Rodolphus Lestrange," Severus explained. "Voldemort is displeased with the outcome, naturally."

There were several gasps of alarm. "If only Sirius was alive today," Dedalus Diggle said with a solemn sigh. "He could have been a free man."

"It is, perhaps, for the best," said Minerva McGonagall with a sigh of her own. "The situation with Potter would not have been a good effect on him – especially after so many years in Azkaban."

"Fiendfyre?" exclaimed Arthur. "Who on earth would attempt such a spell so close to a village?"

"I am not certain, however, Marcus Flint is one of the missing Death Eaters. Flint, Lestrange, and many others have not been yet reported to be in the MLES's custody. Unfortunately, that boy had never been good for much aside from being on a broom," said Severus.

Ron snorted. "He wasn't even good then," said Ron and joined the others in laughter.

Severus, mouth open to defend his former Slytherin student, was interrupted by the hurried steps heading toward the kitchen door. It swung inward to reveal a breathless Hestia Jones. In her arms were more than a dozen copies of the Daily Prophet hugged securely to her chest. Everyone stopped to stare at her, brows raised in silent inquiry.

"Dear Merlin, Hestia!" cried Molly. "What on earth is wrong? Come on, dear, sit down."

Emmaline Vance made to get up and offer Hestia her seat, but she simply shakes her head and waited to catch her lost breath. Once she was able to properly breath, she began to speak. "I had gone to the Ministry this morning for an appointment and had been waiting when the junior worker ran into the office I was in saying something to the manager. She then canceled all her appointments for that day. I was a bit annoyed, of course, and I had prepared to leave when I realized the paper boy was selling different copies of that morning's paper. I read it…I read it….Oh Merlin we were wrong! We were all wrong about Harry!" she cried out.

Severus raised a brow and snagged a copy of the newspaper for himself. "What on earth are you on about, woman?" he asked, flipping open the folded paper. "What had that murdering dunderhead have to do with…." He trails off, eyes widening a fraction as he read the front page.

 **HARRY POTTER & SIRIUS BLACK: INNOCENT FROM THE START**

 ** _Gerald Monkstone_**

 _To my readers, the news I know write was information that was given to me quite literally only an hour before by a valid source. It is my duty, and your right as the public, to know what had occurred within the span of twenty-four hours._

 _Last night in Moreshire, Death Eaters were confirmed to be battling with Ministry Auror's. Junelle Pointrest, Vincent Farrow, and Silas Humpdinger lost their lives during this battle and several other Auror officials were severally wounded. Let their sacrifices not be in vain. However, while this battle was a tragic affair, it also revealed information lost years before._

 _Six Death Eaters were captured last night, and one of them was a ghost from the past who had been awarded the posthumous Order of Merlin, Second Class, Peter Pettigrew. Suffice to say the Auror's within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were beyond surprised. Each Death Eater was interrogated under Veritaserum, and according to Pettigrew the deaths of James and Lily Potter on October 31, 1981, was not the fault of the deceased Sirius Black who was murdered along with Harry Potter's Muggle relatives on July 20, 1995. A week before the Potter's death, Lord and Lady Potter along with Lord Black had decided to change secret-keepers. The Potter, who had been living in Godric's Hollow under the Fidelus Charm, had titled Peter Pettigrew as their new secret-keeper. Pettigrew, only hours later, went to You-Know-Who with knowledge of the Potter's whereabouts, leading to the deaths of Lord and Lady Potter and orphaning their only son._

 _Sirius Black, after seeing the ruins of Godric's Hollow, gave chase after Pettigrew. Black had cornered Pettigrew on a busy lane in the Muggle town of Delaford. It was Pettigrew who killed the twelve Muggles and cut off the finger on his left hand in order to appear as if he too had been killed by Sirius Black. If the public recalls, Lord Black was denied a trailer and was immediately sent to Azkaban for twelve years._

 _You must be wonder: how did Peter Pettigrew avoid detection all these years?_

 _Pettigrew is an illegal animagus whose form is a rat. He escaped by the use of his animagus form and took shelter in the sewers before making his way back into the wizarding world. He hid under this form for more than a decade, living as the house pet of Ronald Weasley until he left the household a little over four years ago._

 _Pettigrew is a murderer, thief, and his animagus form is fitting of his personality. Yet his story of betrayal nor murder does not end here._

 _Under Veritaserum Pettigrew along with four Death Eaters (Lamont Yardley, Uriah Heep, Helen Grayle, and Orpheus Gebbage) confessed that on July 11th, 1995 that they along with Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, went to 4 Privet Drive, the home of the former Harry James Potter. Gebbage and Hexley then quickly disabled Potter who was already in the yard. Once inside the house the others used all manner of terrible spells to torture and painfully murder the muggles as the young man was forced to watch. Bellatrix Lestrange was the one who used Potter's wand. The memories have been verified by Legilimency performed by an unspeakable and have been preserved in a pensieve. Prisoner 291345, the former Harry James Potter, is therefore innocent of all crimes that he was punished for._

 _How could this severe lapse of justice occur not once but twice?_

 _Sadly Lord Black is no longer with us however presumably the former Harry Potter still lives within the depths of Azkaban._

 _Remember readers it was Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley who stated that Potter was impervious to Veritaserum. This statement along with many others that were given in front of the High Court of the Wizengamot and in a secret court condemned an innocent child to the worst place on Earth. However was the former Harry Potter truly impervious to the effects of Veritaserum? What was the testimony given in the secret court and how was it verified? This reporter must doubt it as with all information given during that trial given the facts._

 _According to a source within the Ministry familial protection wards were to be present at house of the former Harry Potter and his muggle relatives. How did these wards fail? Were there wards truly at 4 Privet Drive to begin with?_

 _The former Harry Potter (Prisoner 291345) as our readers may recall was sentenced to 50 years in a maximum security cell. Due to the crimes he was found guilty of he was stripped of his name and has not seen another being besides Dementors since he entered his cell on July 23, 1995. Is our savior mentally stable after his exposure to Dementors? In fact can we be sure that he is still alive?_

 _I am sorry to say I too was one of those who blindly agreed with the findings at the Ministry released to the press two years ago. Wizarding England owes Harry James Potter an enormous apology._

 _The staff at the Daily Prophet shall keep you informed as it more information becomes available._

It took a great deal of time before what they read registered in their minds. They sit in silence for a few minutes before a shocked Ron demanded, "Innocent? How is that possible? He has to be guilty!"

"The information was verified, you idiot boy," sneered Severus. "It is genuine. Did you perhaps want Potter to remain in Azkaban for the rest of his natural life, Weasley?" His lips drew in a cruel smirk. "It must pain you to think of playing second fiddle again. You are no better than Pettigrew."

"Why you greasy git – "began Ron, his face turning as red as his face.

"This is not the time to argue, Mr. Weasley," Albus interjected. "The truth is out and we could not have known before how wrong we were. We must act immediately. Harry will soon be released from Azkaban – this at least explains the absence of Kindly and Alastor. Arthur, you, Emmaline and Tonks will accompany me to the Ministry. We will see to Harry being placed into my custody. Molly, go and prepare a room for Harry. I'm sure he's suffering terrible effects from the Dementors. Severus, return here with as many potions as you can think of. Ron and the others will remain here – I am sure Harry will want to see a friendly face when he is released. As for the rest of you, you are in charge of damage control. We will need to handle this as carefully as possible seeing as much of our testimony during Harry's trial is great factor in his imprisonment."

A dozen heads nods in understanding to the given orders. Severus, no longer seeing his presence necessary, swept from the room. It was Hermione whom spoke after a pregnant pause. "Headmaster, today is August 29. Harry is already seventeen. He's no longer a minor so how are you going to get custody of him?"

"You don't think they will consider releasing Harry without placing him in proper care?" asked Molly in a shrill voice. "He needs to be here, with us – people he knows and loves."

"I can assure you that Cornelius would not be foolish enough to release Harry on his own," said Albus. "He needs Harry to be in good health and a sound mound in order to repair the damage to his career. Harry will be returning with me, worry not."

With a quick nod and murmurs of agreement, the adults left the room to follow their orders. Left to themselves, the children remained seated in the kitchen table. They were slowly coming to terms with what they had learned, but it was a difficult task. They, in all sense, allowed their friend to be thrown away like yesterday's trash without even caring to hear what he had to say.

"Can you believe this?" asked Ginny. "Harry is really innocent!"

"Harry," began Fred.

"Is going to be – "said George.

"– so mad at us all," The twins chorused.

"Because we never believed him," whispered Ginny as she dabs away tears from the corners of her eyes. "Poor Harry."

"We must be very friendly and patient with him when he comes home," Hermione said. "Harry will need our help, desperately." In that moment she, along with the others, recalls her own damning testimony against Harry. She remembers the hurt that had been in Harry's eyes. The pain and suffering that her words had inflicted upon him. She bites her lower lip in distress. "Harry…he has a very forgiving spirit."

Ron nods. "The Harry we know is forgiving. I mean he told us all the things his Muggle relatives did to him and he never once hurt them. He'll forgive us for sure." There was a part of him that was a little pleased at the thought of having his old friend back, but it was a very small portion of him. With Harry coming back, surely, Ron was going to end up being pushed to the side again? _No,_ he thought firmly, hands balled into fist. _Not this time around._

"Yes, what Harry needs is our presence and the rest of the Gryffindors are Hogwarts. Of course, he will be angry for a bit – but who wouldn't? But he'll forgive us, I'm sure of it," Ginny said with a small smile. _Harry was free_ , she thought, _Harry was free and that means we can go back to the way things were before. I used to have such a crush on him – maybe I still do. I'll have to see how he looks when he gets back._ Her smile widened and a serene, dreamy expression cloaked her face. _We'll fall in love and get married like I always dreamed…Ginevra Potter – how grand that sounds!_

As they planned on the many ways they could better integrate Harry to a life outside of Azkaban and heal the scars (both emotionally and physically) each thought of different ways they could cheer their old friend up when he came to Grimmauld Place.


	4. Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"I must agree with Chief Warlock Dumbledore. Harry Potter cannot possibly be able to take care of himself. His long stay in Azkaban would have been detrimental to both his physical and mental health. It would be for the best to revoke his adult status for the time being," announced Janis Fergold, the head of Children's Supportive System. He was a tall, wisp of a man with hair that was neither brown nor blonde, but rather a muted shade between the two. He had watery blue eyes that peered at the gathered members from behind thin, rectangular lenses. Before him were the present few: Cornelius Fudge along with his entire cabinet had arrived to the emergency meeting held by Albus Dumbledore, and with him came the heads of the DML and Florian Deffold, a private solicitor whom handled the personal matters of wealthy clients.

There were voices of agreements in favor of Fergold's suggestion from all except Deffold who cleared his throat.

"As Mister Potter's lawyer I cannot agree to these conditions. There is no way to determine the state of his health without an examination from a Healer. Furthermore, I would like to remind you all that certain matters must be rectified before anyone is due to meet him in Azkaban. Even if he seems less than mentally stable he will not be placed in the care of the CSS. He is to be placed with his closets blood relations. In according to the wills of the late Lord and Lady Potter and Lord Black, Harry James Potter is the sole heir of these two Pureblood family seats, which brings me to my next issues," began Deffold before he was interrupted by Albus.

"I have known Harry since he came into the wizarding world," Albus said, his eyes glancing away from the hard, flat stare of Deffold to those whom he knew would support his reasoning. "He has no living family. It would be in his best interest to be recuperated with people he already knows. Placing him with strangers would be a great setback on his road towards recovery. I have already prepared – "

"Pardon me, _Chief Warlock_ , but I wasn't aware that you already had plans for Harry Potter," Deffold intercepted with a barest curl of a sneer to his thin lips. "However you are correct. He is in need of proper guardians until he has shown to be of sound health and mind. I have a trial transcript in which you talked about your previous choices of a guardian for the future Lord Black." He raises a hand for silence as he skims through his file folder for the paper in question. "Ah, here it is. Lord Polk asked you, Chief Warlock, about the home conditions of Harry Potter in which you replied: " _The Dursley's were a bit harsh to Harry. They were Muggles and although Harry's Aunt Petunia had a witch for a sister she still found wizardry to be discomforting. I admit there might have been a few incidents when the Dursley's may have been overly hard and perhaps had forgotten to give Harry a few kindnesses but it did not warrant the deaths of the Dursley's_."

Deffold levels Albus with a cool glare, his dark eyes glimmering with open mockery and detesting for the old warlock. Many of the other party members looked to one another, uncomfortable as they each recalled the provided testimony from Albus himself.

"First of all," continued Deffold, "Mister Potter should have never been placed with the Dursley family in accordance to the will of his parents. We are all aware that Mister Potter needed to be there for the familiar wards to work, however, those wards be can transferred in cases of the family refusing to accept the responsibility. As I'm sure you are already aware of this – unless you intentionally wanted the wards to poorly form – you deliberately placed Mister Potter in the care of Muggles who had no knowledge on how to care for a magical child, and thus mistreated him."

"I wouldn't say they mistreated him per say – "Albus said softly.

Deffold arched a brow and scoffed lightly. "And what would you call starving and locking a child in a cupboard of all places for much of his life?" When Albus gave no response, he resumed his speech. "I have already contacted the proper person whom will be overseeing the care of the future Lord Black."

Albus, appearing deeply put-off, gazed at all the members of the Cabinet and even his own ally in this particular matter, Janis Fergold, who were agreeing with the upstart solicitor. Even Albus, regardless how begrudgingly, had to agree. More than a decade before, Albus had informed any whom had been mentioned as a guardian in the will of Lily and James Potter that they had not been giving the right of care towards Harry Potter. It was a rather…shady working on his part, but he hadn't wanted Harry Potter raised in the wizarding world least the boy grow up to become arrogant and entitled. Now, however, his own actions were coming back to condemn him and the years of planning.

"Excuse me, Deffold, was it?" said Dolores Umbridge with a charming smile. "Did you say the future Lord Black? How is even possible for Potter to be the heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black? Surely it's impossible." Her smile widened. "You must be funning."

It was no secret that Dolores Umbridge had no love for Harry Potter, or anyone she deemed to be beneath her social stature as a Pureblood. Such as it was, she was also not a fool. Dolores was well aware just how rich the Potter family _was_ ; however, the Black's carried both insurmountable wealth and political influence. This would not bode well for her future plans of becoming the next Minister of Magic after Cornelius's resignation. Her smile faltered as Deffold explained himself.

"Madam Undersecretary, my name is Florian Deffold, and I would never think to joke about such dire situations. As you are not an employee of Gringotts and have no security clearance from the Chief Goblin of Gringotts, Horak the Direct, you are not privy to the various inheritance procedures within familiar. However, I can tell you this much: Following the birth of Harry James Potter, the late Lord Black, tilted him as his heir by both blood and right."

Dolores stared at him agape. "A blood adoption ritual?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes, ma'am," said Deffold. "I address Mister Potter as the future Lord Black because the Potter name, although titled and important, has always historically taken the inferior position due to the fact that Black's were more active in politics. Both names however occupy equal standing in society. As such, Mister Potter is the sole heir to both houses."

"Yes, I remember when I first took my hereditary seat in the Wizengamot as a young man many years ago," croaks Ignatius Gallden, a kindly old man with a shock of white hair and grey eyes. "Orion Black was a sight to behold and a political powerhouse along a few others. If he wanted he could have easily been Minister of Magic. However, I remember one day he said, " _The Blacks have no need for the title when I belong to the power behind the man."_ If I may be so bold to ask, who is the person who will be receiving the future Lord Black?"

Deffold considers the question and party before him. He was well aware that Cornelius, blubbering mess of a man he had been reduced to since this whole affair began, was fervently whispering with a dark-haired woman. All were aware how desperately Cornelius was working to salvage his crumbling reputation, but as far Deffold's care for the man went (which was none, to be quite honest) he hoped Fudge suffered for his actions.

A knock came from the door, and Percy Weasley entered with Lady Augusta Longbottom close behind. He introduced her to the party members and departed as quickly as he could. Augusta Longbottom was a picture of ageless elegance. Dressed in a dark violet gown, dripping with white jewels and her salt and pepper hair piled atop of her head in a stylish coif, at one hundred and ten years old, she was still a witch that was considerably in her prime. Augusta walked towards the small crowd, and Deffold stood to greet her.

Taking Augusta's hand and brushing his lips over her thin knuckles, Deffold straightens with a fond smile. "My dear lady, thank you for coming on such short notice," he said. "I was just about to inform the members that you will be taking over the guardianship of Harry Potter before being negotiations of reparations for your charge. Please, take a seat." He offers his own chair.

"Thank you, Mister Deffold," Augusta said, taking the offered seat.

"Reparations?" squeaked Cornelius in a breathless voice.

"Yes, Cornelius, reparations," reiterated Augusta with a thin smirk.

"Augusta, my dear, I do hope you are having a good day," said Albus pleasantly. "If I may ask, dear, why are you here?" He was already aware of why she was here – and it greatly bothered him. Augusta Longbottom neither liked nor trusted him; she had told him so many times before over the years. And, should Albus wish to have any form of interactions with Harry, he would have to gain a place within her good grace.

"Mister Dumbledore," retorts Augusta coolly. "I recall during our last conversation that I had informed you to not address me in such a familiar manner. The reason as to why I am here is that as Mister Potter's closest living wizarding relatives – as you already know – it is my duty to see that his wellbeing is not being hindered by the likes of you." Her eyes narrowed into pins. "You have made many messes of things in the past, Dumbledore, and I will remind you the power that stands behind the Longbottom name. My family has never been one for politics, however, if you wish to continue showing your faces in certain circles you will see to interfere with myself and my wards. Now, Mister Deffold, move onto the negotiations as time is of the essence."

The others, terribly surprised by the sudden malice in Augusta's voice, assessed the woman in a new light. Augusta Longbottom has been well perceived as a soft-spoken and gentle woman, and to hear her subtle threat against Dumbledore (who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat) was foreboding.

"First of all, in accordance to Gringotts Blood law _: "All monies, personal effects, hereditary heirlooms, newly formed heirlooms, and all other objects whether cursed or not cannot be taken from Gringotts vaults by the Ministry in cases of death, dismemberment, cursing, petrifaction, transfigurement into an inanimate object, severe obliviation, chronic poisonings, imprisonment regardless of guilt or innocence, etcetera cannot be removed from a person's vault. When said person dies the closet blood relative will inherit."_ However, the Ministry circumvented this law by using Mister Dumbledore's status as Harry Potter's magical guardian. Since he was magical guardian he had control all vaults except family heirlooms due to Mister Potter's incapacitation in prison. The goblins are not pleased at all the circumventing of the law in that manner, however, that is neither here nor there," said Deffold before Cornelius quickly interrupted.

"Dear Merlin, man, the Ministry had done nothing wrong at the time," shouted Cornelius, his face flushed a deep red.

"Cornelius, be quiet," said Augusta. "Remember, dear, you may not have a job by the end of this week. Now, Mister Deffold, continue if you will."

"Thank you, my lady," resumed Deffold calmly. "Ladies and gentlemen we have not come here to debate the loophole in the law as of this time. Presently, the goblins are asking for reparations for their client. The money within the Potter accounts at the time of the trial was five hundred million galleons. The goblins are asking for complete restitution. They also want you, Minister Fudge, to rectify the matter of the loophole by paying thirty percent of the original value of the accounts on top of the restitution."

"Thirty percent of five million galleons?" shrieked Umbridge, hands slapping down on the mahogany desk in indignation. "Have those filthy animals lost their minds?"

"Madam, I will remind you that those goblins you so carelessly call filthy animals are the keepers of all our assists and wealth," Deffold stated in deference.

"Thirty percent is rather steep when one takes into consideration how greatly wronged the boy was," said Ursula Appleton, a Cabinet member with heavy, dark lids, pale eyes and black hair. There were murmurs of agreement to her statement.

Cornelius, seemingly aged several decades within the past few minutes, nodded his head in defeat. "I agree to the matter of payment in accordance to the goblins," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Are we done here?"

"Of course not," responds Augusta with a scoff. "You may have agreed to the reparations set by the goblins in reference to the malfeasance of Harry's funds, however, there is also the matter of the Ministry's reparations for false imprisonment and destruction of property."

"She is correct, Cornelius," said Gallden when Fudge opened his mouth in outrage.

"Thank you, Ignatius," Augusta says with a smile of secret fondness to the man.

"According to the Ministry laws concerning false imprisonment," explained Deffold, often times consulting his file of paperwork as he spoke, "the innocent person will be awarded one million galleons for every year and two thousand, seven hundred thirty-nine galleons per day. Restitution laws call for reparation of seven hundred fifty thousand galleons for the destruction of the wand. Due to the public humiliation that Mister Potter went through, which includes the stripping of his name and libelous accusations, reparations are called for in the amount of thirty million galleons since the law gives no cap in such circumstances. Lady Longbottom wishes you to pay the full cap on the medical care clause which is nine hundred thousand galleons. The grand total is forty-five million, two hundred fifty-two thousand, five hundred eighty galleons which includes posthumous restitution of the late Sirius Black. Lady Longbottom will accept this on behalf of her charge, Harry James Potter, although she knows much more can be gained. In return for settling for this pittance, Lady Longbottom will receive unbreakable vows from all present that you will not actively seek out Mister Potter for any reason. If you wish to contact with him you can talk to me or send an owl or elf to Lady Longbottom or her grandson, Lord Longbottom. If Mister Potter seeks you out you are absolved of the vow."

All the party members, excluding Albus, were quick to agree to the terms and accept the vow. "Lady Longbottom, surely this is not the right manner in which to go at things?" asked Albus softly. "How will Harry keep in contact with all his friends from Hogwarts and many others whom care about him?"

"Have you lost all your sense, Dumbledore?" asked Augusta with a sneer. "Mister Potter has no friends. Need I remind that these so called friends were the very same ones who condemned him into imprisonment? You may have gone senile with age, Dumbledore, but I have not."

"No, Lady Longbottom, I have not," said Albus with a sigh of resignation. Upon the completion of the unbreakable bond, his frown remained firmly in place and eyes gleaned with disappointment.

"Since we are done here, Mister Deffold and I will be on our way to Azkaban," informed Augusta as she rose to her feet. "And you, Dumbledore, are not invited."

"Lady Longbottom, I think – "started Dumbledore before he was silenced by the sheer strength of Augusta's disdainful glare.

"I don't very much care for what you think, Dumbledore. Remember your vow, dear. It would be quite a shame if you were to lose your magic and die," she says with a sardonic smirk. "Come along, Cornelius. You have much to explain for."

 **…**

Tremors shook his wasted body with each harsh, violent cough. There was the taste of blood on his mouth, thick and metallic, and Harry alternates between coughing and spitting out glops of blood and saliva. When his coughing subdued enough for him to catch his breath, Harry spits once more and wipes the blood from the corners of his mouth. He was so damn _tired_. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat – couldn't function anymore because he swore his mind was slipping at last. Giving a hoarse, wheezy laugh, Harry scrubs furiously at his face, eyes closed and breathing returning to its labored, shallows gasps. He had sat there in the corner, listening to the other prisoners going about their routine of screaming, crying, or cackling madly, when the door to his cell creaked open. It wasn't the Dementors, not this time around. Opening his eyes at the sight that greeted him, his jaw clenched and mind spun with presumptions.

 _They've come to give me the kiss early,_ Harry thought, heart beating with wild fear.

"I haven't seen the boy since he came here, my lady," said the warden of Azkaban. He was a weedy man with fraying dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and frequently wore an expression of forlorn. "Ministry orders, you see. McNair was the one who checked on him the most, said the boy was fine enough."

Harry, hands curling into a fist at the mention of his assaulter, stared from the face of the warden who looked as if the world itself had ended, to Augusta Longbottom. She still looked the same from his brief memories of her, minus the horrid hat that she often adorned. Beside her were Cornelius Fudge, sweating profusely, a tall, lithe man with dark hair and black eyes (Florian Deffold), and a petite woman with a mass of brown curls and solemn gray eyes (Healer Mintworth.)

Augusta Longbottom, from the second her eyes landed onto Harry, clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle to scream of shock that threatened to burst forward. Harry, painfully thin with his bones plainly in view and skin an ashen grey, looked near death. He felt like he was dying, slowly. His eyes, once a bright green, were darker, emptier; vacant except for the hint of fear that dwelled in their depths.

"Forty five years hasn't passed yet," Harry croaked out, flinching away when Augusta made to take him into her arms.

Cornelius, pale at the condition of the boy he too had once praised for defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, felt his heart pinch with remorse. It was not a feeling he had once felt despite years of manipulation and undermining others to get what he wanted.

"Oh Harry," sobbed Augusta softly, her hands hovering in the air, desperate to touch the boy before her – to ensure that he truly was alive, was real. "Oh, Harry, what have they done to you?"

 _Threw me in prison would be one thing,_ Harry thought, scooting along the wall to get away from her hands.

"Don't worry, Harry," Augusta was saying, "Dumbledore and the others won't be here. They won't take you away from me, you hear? I'll protect you, I promise." Her guilt was evident, and Augusta still held it deep in her heart. She had blindly allowed others to do what they will with Harry, focused on her own grief at the conditions in which her son and daughter-in-law were in. But no more, she swore. No matter what it took, no matter whom she had to eliminate in the process, she would see to Harry and her Neville growing to becoming men who were to be feared and untouchable.

"You're free, Mister Potter," Deffold said softly. "We've come to take you home."

"Free?" retorted Harry in a whisper. "Free," he says once more and they watch with concern as he threw his head back and laughed.

"Yes, Harry, you're free," said Augusta as his laughter subsided. "Come now, dear, can you stand?"

Harry nodded shortly and, using the wall as a leverage, drew himself to his feet. He had barely took one step forward when his knees gave way. Deffold was quick to catch the young man into his arms, frowning at the way the boy's muscles tensed and his body stiffened. "Are you alright, Mister Potter?" he asked, settling Harry back onto his feet and keeping a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, fine," Harry said, brushing away the solicitor's hand. He takes an uncertain step forward, waiting for one of them to mock him – to tell him this was all a joke and he was not truly free. They said a word, only watching him as he continue to walk forward with caution. As they made their way out of the many twisting corridors to the first floor, Harry bites the corner of his bleeding lips as the door was opened. Sunlight streamed through. He could smell the sea, salty and fresh. He could taste the moisture in the air, feel the sand beneath his feet. The wind pushed against his body, but he didn't care. He couldn't care because he was finally free.

 _Freedom_ , he thought, as he was ushered into a boat beside Augusta and the woman who introduced herself as his new Healer. _Freedom has never been so great._


	5. Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Albus was displeased. His plans that had been years in the making were quickly unraveling due to the interference of one woman. Erasing the stormy expression from his features he made his way into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place where the others sat waiting for his arrival. The absence of Harry was immediately noticeable.

"Where is Harry, Albus?" Molly, her voice stained with worry. "Please don't tell me that he's so sick that he's been admitted into St. Mungo's." Her hands worried the skirt of her dress. Her conscious guilt had begun to leak forward only hours after learning that Harry Potter was innocent; and though she cannot say without it being a lie that she regretted her past actions, she did regret not having some faith in the boy that had seen her as something like a mother. She would have to amend past mistakes when Harry came to live with them.

"The boy is dead, isn't he?" drawled Snape sardonically. His comment aroused an uproar within the kitchen, many shouting in denial and others cursing him for saying such a thing.

Albus waved his hand, demanding silence. They slowly grew quiet, faces pinched with anger and other varying degrees of emotions. "No, Severus, his is not dead. However, I was unable to get custody of Harry," he informed them as he sat at the head of the table.

"Did Minister Fudge simply release Harry?" Hermione demanded to know. "Harry cannot be alone right now. He's likely very sick and mentally unstable after his stay in Azkaban." She, like Molly, was worried and riddled with guilt. Harry – or at least that Harry she remembered had always needed her, had trusted her without question and appreciated her brilliance. Surely, he would still need her now? He didn't have a family – he had no one but them; his friends.

"He was released into the care of his closest wizarding relatives from his father's side," Albus stated with a sigh.

It dawned on the older members of the Order whom he was speaking of whilst the youngest remained ignorant. "I thought Harry's only family was those muggles," Ron said as he bit into an apple.

"You're referring to Lady Longbottom, aren't you, Albus?" asked Emmaline.

"Harry is related to the Longbottom's? But, how…" Ginny trails off, a deep blush staining her cheeks as the rest of her words refused to come forward. Hermione, Ron and the twins were too surprised to speak.

"Yes, they are related," Albus began to explain, "Lady Longbottom was born Augusta Potter. She was the only sibling of Harry's grandfather, Charlus. The longevity of wizarding folk allows many to not have children for many years. Harry's great grandparents had Charlus very early on in their marriage. Augusta was unexpected as she was unplanned as Charlus was an only child for many decades. In fact, by the time she was born Charlus was already sixty."

"If he had wizarding relatives why did he have to live with the Dursley's?" questioned Ron with a slight frown. His apple tasted sour in his mouth now. This conversation was – well it just wasn't his cup of tea. He had gotten so used to not thinking about Harry Potter that speaking about him now was discomforting. It made him feel weird.

"Voldemort" – many flinched at the name – "was after the Longbottom's as well. After Frank and Alice were tortured into madness, Augusta took Neville out of the country. She only returned when she heard of the Potter's death. It was only when I informed her of Lily's sacrifice that protected Harry that she agreed it would be best if Harry was raised with the Dursley's. She thought it was best that Harry did not learn about her out of fear of inadvertently making the wards fail," said Albus.

This, of course, was not the truth. He had told Augusta of the blood wards surrounding Harry due to his mother's sacrifice and had implied it would be best for the boy to remain with his muggle relatives. In her grief over the loss of her son and daughter-in-law, Augusta believed him. The abuse and neglect Harry suffered by Dursley's, but the maltreatment had shaped the boy's character. It was due to them that Harry was as self-sacrificing and forgiving as he was. Had things been different, had Neville been the one who was targeted, Albus would have never even gotten a chance to see the boy. Augusta, after the death of the Potter's and her own son and Alice, had fallen into a deep depression. She coddled her grandson and kept him away from the public for much of his life.

"So Harry is living with Neville and his grandmother now?" asked Ron in a quiet voice, his appetite gone and a half eaten apple abandoned in front of him.

"Your own stupidity precedes you time and time again, Mister Weasley," sneered Snape. "Albus spoke quite clearly. Or do you perhaps need it written out to better understand what he said?" His sneer morphed into a nasty smirk.

Ron, too shocked to say anything, looked numbly at Hermione. She offered him a smile that failed to reach her eyes. Her mind was elsewhere, thoughts running wild as her mind tried to process all that was being said.

"Albus, will Lady Longbottom allow us to see Harry?' asked Arthur Weasley, hands quivering as he poured himself another pint of fire whiskey. _Circe this is worst. How on earth are we going to fix this?_

"At this time due to his poor health it is not possible. However, when he is well enough for guest I am sure Harry will want our company. Augusta will not hinder us from seeing him if Harry himself wishes for it," Albus said with a smile. He, of course, would not be informing them that he was forbidden from being in direct or indirect contact with Harry, nor of Augusta's subtle threats. The Augusta Longbottom he knew during his time at Hogwarts was not the woman he had met days before. She had made it clear that she was not a woman to be trifled with. Regardless, Harry Potter needed to return to Hogwarts and more importantly, to Albus. _I will need to find a way to get to Harry if he is to ever forgive any of us. Augusta has made her distrust of me no secret. She is bound to try and poison Harry against me._ He frowned deeply. _I cannot allow this. Harry must return to us at all cost. The prophecy must be completed and the Voldemort must be destroyed._

The meeting continued on for a few more hours before Albus dismissed them all. He, the Weasley family and Hermione were all whom remained. As they sat there were discussing plans on gaining Harry's forgiveness, many which Albus disapproved of. If they were to get Harry to forgive them, they would first need him to listen to their side of the story.

...

Augusta had not left Harry's side since he had been brought to Longbottom manor. Currently, the dark-haired boy – her great-nephew – was asleep. He looked frail, easy to harm and damage beneath the thick, white duvet. Occasionally, Harry would mumble incoherent words in his sleep, limbs twitching beneath the duvet as he turned to his side.

Glancing up from the open page of her novel, Augusta smiles fondly at her grandson as he enters the bedroom quietly. Taking a seat at the edge of the wide bed, Neville leveled his sleeping cousin with a small smile. He was happy that Harry was finally with them – the family that he should have had from the get go. He had been, rightfully, angry with his grandmother when she revealed the relationship between the Longbottom's and the Potter's days after Harry's trial. He had forgiven her in the end, however. She had been grieving for the loss of her own child at the time and Dumbledore, spotting this weakness, manipulated her into allowing Harry to be raised by those horrid Muggles.

Neville was the first to notice when Harry began to awake. He moaned softly and shifted restlessly under the duvet, eyes fluttering open. "Harry," Neville breathed, scooting closer to the frowning boy. "Harry, it's me. It's Neville."

Harry's mouth opened and released a guttered sound. Drawing himself upright on shuddering limbs, he stared at Neville and Augusta through a curtain of dark hair without a word. Neville looked to his grandmother with distress in his eyes, unsure what to do next when Augusta closed the book she was reading. She took a seat beside him on the bed, tucking his hair behind his ear and asking in a soft voice, "Harry, dear, how are you feeling?"

"Fine… I feel… fine," Harry managed to croak out, his voice scratchy and thick from disuse and slumber.

"That's good. Great considering everything," Neville said with a relieved sigh. "You've been sleeping like the dead for nearly a week, Harry."

"Feel a bit dead…" Harry whispered, leaning against the headboard for support.

"Na, tell him."

Harry tilted his head to focus his eyes on Augusta, brows drawn together in query, and she is quick to dab away the incoming tears from her eyes. "There are no words to describe the depth of my guilt, Harry," she begun to say. "I had foolishly placed your wellbeing in the hands of a man I myself have never trusted… When Lily and James died, only hours after my own son and daughter-in-law were tortured into madness I couldn't… I could not cope with such losses all in one night. I was beside myself with grief, crippled… And Dumbledore saw an opportune moment to insist that your mother's sacrifice protected you from all harm. I had only wanted you safe, Harry… I thought he would ensure your safety when he took you to live with those Muggles but… but that was not the case. Because of my own foolishness you had unduly suffered. You have been hurt and betrayed. I cannot forgive myself…" She breaks off into sobs that shook her frail form, curling into the comforting arm that Neville settled around her trembling shoulders.

"Harry," the brunette male continued for her, "for years – _years_ – Dumbledore has been lying to you. To everyone. The Dursleys… they weren't your only relatives. Gran and I… we're your family. She's your great-aunt, Harry – we're cousins. We're your family."

The weight of those words struck Harry viciously, issuing a small sound of surprise. He buries his hands into the duvet, gripping the silky material to keep them from shaking. A family – all these years he'd had another family, a proper wizarding family and he'd never known. For years, since infancy he'd been neglected and starved, treated so unfairly that he'd almost thought he deserved it. He'd almost been broken all because of a lie; and she'd believed it. Harry wants to hate her. To hate the both of them for never saying a word, for never saving him. _A family… how long have I wanted one...?_ He wonders as he stares at the distraught woman and her grandson – his great-aunt and cousin. _Too long. For too long I'd wanted a family but now..._

"You knew… All this time you knew I was your nephew and you never once said anything," Harry stated in a deceptively calm voice. "Because of you... because of all of you I – I _suffered_. I was tormented and abused by my own relatives and you think sorry will change any of that?"

"We know it can't change what's happened to you, Harry, but honestly – honestly Gran never meant for this to happen. She made a mistake. She trusted the wrong person and she knows she's missed up, but we fought for you," Neville countered. "We fought for you from the moment you were taken away to Azkaban and we will keep fighting for you!"

"The past cannot be changed, Harry," Augusta said in a small voice, tears falling freely now as she freed herself from Neville's hold to grab onto Harry's wrist. "The past cannot be undone, and I will go to my grave hating myself for putting my own feelings above my duty to my family, but the future – the future is yours for the taking, Harry. You will heal, you will grow stronger, and all those who have wronged you will atone for their misgivings."

Neville nods in agreement. "We're a family now, Harry, and a family stands together. Always."

...

He had forgotten the burn of scorching water. The steam that suffocates the room and leaves moisture on the surface of glass and porcelain. His body is alien to him in spite of him having scrubbed it clean many a times before. The skin is puckered and pink from the wash, bones protruding glaringly – a reminder. His form his emancipated, shrunk; he feels like an old soul trapped in the body of a starved and bruised child. Thin fingers cascade through overgrown ink black locks, brushing the strands away from his narrow face as he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

"You need to fatten up, love," the enchanted mirror tsked. "A trim figure is good to have – but you're all skin and bones. No girls – "

"Shut up," Harry said as he brings his fingers to the surface of the mirror. Ignoring the grumbling from the mirror, he eyes the figure reflected back at him in distaste. Skin and bones – the mirror was right about that, at least. He does not look like his father, he realized. The face of James Potter had been stripped away along with his legacy and name, leaving behind a skeleton. Harry laughs hollowly as he drags a towel around his narrow waistline and exits the bathroom.

Someone had set out clothing for him. Loose fit trousers with a drawstring and a gray jumper that slips-and-slides off his shoulders. Harry leaves his hair to hang damp around his shoulders, and was contemplating his next move when a _pop_ of Apparation sounded and he turned to see a little house-elf with big blue eyes staring him in wonder.

"Master Harry, sir, Misses says you is to join them in the parlor for lunch," she informed him shyly. "Tilly will show you way, sir."

Harry makes no move to follow. He just stares at Tilly without really seeing her any longer, wondering, if he could really trust Augusta Longbottom. He'd made the mistake of trusting Albus Dumbledore and his lot, and that had landed him a place in Azkaban. Could he truly afford to trust someone else?

"Master Harry?"

Blinking down at Tilly, Harry nods his head curtly and allowed the house-elf to lead the way. He wouldn't trust them – not right away, maybe not for a long time, but they were his saviors – his family. Unlike with the Dursleys, he truly had no one else but them; they had fought for him, he would at least show them the courtesy of being civil.

The parlor had open windows and glass doors that let in sunlight, and a soft breeze sends the lace curtains off to dance in the air. Augusta and Neville were seated on an ivory settee, drinking a cup of tea. On the coffee table were a number of plates heavy with rich meals. Harry lingers on the threshold of the parlor for the moment before Tilly ushers him inside and on the loveseat across from Augusta and Neville.

"Hello, Harry," Neville said in greeting.

"Neville, Augusta," Harry responded stiffly. "Did you need something?"

"Aside from your company?" Augusta said with a hint of smile. "I'd like for you to eat what Tilly made for you – Healer Mintworth will be coming by later on the evening to check up on your progress."

"I'm not very hungry," said Harry though his stomach made its disagreement known with a rumbling groan of hunger. A splotchy pink blush bloomed in his cheeks as Neville chuckled, leaning forward to push the plate of cucumber and ham sandwiches into Harry's lap.

"Eat, Harry. We've got loads to tell you, and you'd best fill up or Mintworth will have all our heads," he interjected placidly.

He hesitated in taking one of the triangle-cut sandwiches. The last time he'd been offered food that wasn't the gruel that they feed the inmates, he'd found himself on the receiving end of a nasty Cruico Curse. But nothing happened. Not after the first bite, or the second. Or even after he'd devoured six sandwiches without a pause for breath. His stomach cramped, taut with starvation and it welcomed the change in texture and taste.

Tilly took away the empty plate when he'd finished and Neville placed another plate in his lap. Pasta. Ziti, he called it. It was good, rich and filling but his stomach still demanded more – it cannot be filled. As Harry ate, Neville started to speak.

"When I found out we were cousins, Harry – just a little while after you were imprisoned – I was rightly angry with Gran," he said, watching as the dark-haired youth moved onto the next meal. "If she'd said something a little earlier – done something about your circumstances, you wouldn't have gone through what you did."

 _No shite_ , Harry thinks bitterly as he downs a glass of water.

"But I had bigger priorities to settle than harboring anger for my Gran," Neville continued to say, "she hired a Solicitor and privet investigator from France to come and find more information on your trial, and when they finally managed to scourge a copy of the court transcript, we knew what had happened; what we had to do."

"It was because of their efforts that we were able to demand a mistrial, Harry," Augusta went on to say. "You were due to appear in court on the third of September but with recent events and the admission from Pettigrew – you were cleared of all charges."

"Cheers to that, then," Harry muttered as he ate more slowly and ignored Tilly's whispered recommendations on what to try next. "After they took me away – "

"A lot changed, Harry. Especially at Hogwarts," Neville interrupted with a frown as he set down his empty cup. "Ron and Hermione – they set everyone against you. Fudge handed your trunk over to Ron, said they could do with it what they wanted and when we got back to Hogwarts I nicked your Invisibility Cloak before it could be destroyed along with the rest of your belongings."

Harry pauses to stare at the other boy, mouth dry. "They… they destroyed everything… the album…"

"I'm sorry. I would have grabbed it too – I know it meant a lot to you," Neville said solemnly, "but they came back too soon and I had to hide the Cloak…. Grand kept it for you, hidden in her vault. I can go get it for you, if you want."

"Later. Go on."

"Ron figured out I took the Cloak, made my life a right nightmare, he did. If it wasn't for Luna, I'd probably had gone mad by now. Luna and I, we were tormented left and right by the others – I'd never seen them behave so nastily. Eventually, Gran said enough was enough and demanded that the others either be punished to the fullest extent for their actions or she'd have us pulled from Hogwarts."

Harry wanted to ask who Luna was, but put the question aside for another time. "I take it they weren't even told off for their actions?"

Neville nodded. "Dumbledore protected them against the backlash, even threatened to have students testify that we antagonized all the altercations first. It was a right shite move of him."

"Ultimately, Xenophilius and I deemed it best to just pull the children out of that horrid school and have them privately tutored," Augusta finished for him with a curl of her lips.

"How'd Dumbledore take it?" Harry asked.

"Didn't care one way or another. What he did care for, however, was that I'd gained custody of you," Augusta said with a scoff. "Had I not interfered, he would have surely placed you in the care of that wretched bint Molly under the pretense that you needed to be around familiar people – friends and family. I wouldn't stand for it, I told him. I was your aunt by blood, and if anyone was to have guardianship of you, it'll be me as is my right."

"Thank you." The words left his mouth before Harry could even consider them, and he lowers his eyes to avoid Augusta's watery, and hopeful, eyes.

"It's what family does for each other, Harry," Augusta said with a smile, and she wipes away her tears before continuing.

"Gran declared the Weasley's and Granger blood-traitors right after your imprisonment. Luna said her dad did the same, as well – a good thing, really. I couldn't imagine being civil to that lot any longer after all they've done. You should know that after your trial they came into quite a lot of money," Neville announced loftily.

This didn't surprise Harry as much as he'd thought it should. Ron had always bemoaned the fact he was poor – he was sure when the chance to make a bit of money came into play during his trial, he eagerly took it up; the twat.

"I had always hoped the Weasley family of this age would be better than their predecessors, yet they have proven themselves to be no different," sniffed Augusta in distaste.

"Oh, were they money loving traitors as well?" asked Harry.

"Little over two centuries ago, there was quite a scandal involving the Weasley's and another family by the name of Tremayne's. The only sibling, a lovely young girl, I am told, of Lord Tremayne married into the Weasley family. It was a matched based on love, and soon the Weasley son and Tremayne heiress married. The marriage took a turn for the worst soon enough, however. The husband turned out to be drunk and a cheater who treated her terrible and publicly if he could manage it. Eventually, she went to her brother begging to be released from her marriage as her husband had broken his promise when he signed the contract. Lord Tremayne agreed and brought her home. Her husband did not appreciate Lord Tremayne's interference as it would mean he would have to return the dowry. No one knows the true amount of her dowry, but as the Tremayne's were one of the richest families in Britain and leaders of the haute monde it was rumored to be well over two hundred million galleons. The Weasley's, of course, refused to return the money in spite of their son having broken the contract," Augusta explained, holding out her cup to Tilly for a relief and she takes a long drink before resuming. "In the beginning the Weasley's had a mutual friendship with the Tremayne's that was generations old – even intermarried quite a number of times – and even when ill investments ruined the Weasley fortune, the friendship stood firm. After their refusal to return the money, however, Lord Tremayne had declared the Weasley's oath breakers. With that the haute monde and many prestigious families isolated the Weasley brood for life."

"So it's as I said: money loving traitors, the lot of them," Harry spat venomously as he sat back, sufficiently full for now.

"That's not the half of it, Harry," Neville said. "The Weasley's were livid that they'd lost their standing in society. They'd vowed revenge. One day the ex-wife of the Weasley son was in the park with her sister-in-law and her infant son, who was the sole heir of the Tremayne bloodline. Her former husband attacked them along with his brothers. The two women were murdered and the child missing. Lord Tremayne had Weasley's children kissed for their crimes, but he never did find his son. The remaining Weasley clan members claimed they didn't know where the child was, however, from that moment onward their family name was irrevocably stained. Lord Tremayne declared them to blood traitors, and he died without ever knowing the fate of his son, taking the family line with him."

"What happened to the remaining Weasley's?"

"They whittled the rest of their fortune into nothing. I was already aware of this long before I'd entered Hogwarts, but I didn't want to end up like Malfoy – picking my friends based on their wealth and status."

"He was right, though," Harry mused.

"Who? Malfoy?"

"Yes. He'd once said that some wizarding families were better than others – he was right about the Weasley's being the wrong lot."

"Imagine that," said Neville with a grin. "Harry Potter actually agreeing with Draco Malfoy on something. I'd never thought I'd live to see the day."

Harry snorted but said nothing on the matter. He had never grasped the meaning behind bloodtraitor – and there still remained to be a great number of things he was ignorant of, but for now; for now, he had learned enough to conclude this one thing: "They'll be nothing more than a stain in the history pages once I've finished with them."

"Harry – "Neville said worriedly at the sight of black expression on Harry's face.

"They'll regret ever crossing me."


End file.
